


Carlos and the Desert Alligator

by punkrockgaia



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: AU, Assassins, Crack Fic, Gen, REPTILES, forgotten birthdays, freelance park rangers, randomly-generated plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-06
Updated: 2014-11-06
Packaged: 2018-02-24 09:25:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2576420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punkrockgaia/pseuds/punkrockgaia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one knows that mild-mannered Carlos the Scientist is actually Carlos the Assassin. It’s really cool, actually. And he’s been given the strangest assignment of his life — to assassinate an alligator. But that's not all that's strange. What's the deal with "freelance park ranger" Earl Harlan? Who are the Men Who Are Not Tall who seem to be tailing him around town? What's an alligator doing in the desert, and why does someone want it dead? And most importantly, will anyone remember Carlos' birthday?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on a plot given to me by the Spinny Spinning Thing of Decision-Making-Ness (spinny.com). I warn you that this plot is very, very cracky. More tags/categories to be added as the action progresses! (Wouldn't want to spoil the surprise!)

Carlos collected the mail, smiling at the slim package that had arrived. Someone had remembered his birthday! How wonderful. 

He brought the package inside, turning it over in his hands. Who could it be from? No return address, and the writing on the label was in spidery block-capitals, impossible to identify. Well, the only thing to do was open it!

Inside was a DVD case. It was all black, with no identifying marks. Strange. He opened it to find a similarly-mysterious disc. He shrugged and popped it into his DVD player, then pressed “play” and settled into his comfy chair.

There was a moment of static, then a faceless figure appeared on the screen. Weirdly, the video appeared to have been recorded in his own apartment. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. 

“Sleeper agent number 3.14159265, your cell is being activated,” the faceless figure said, in an electronically-distorted voice. “We have a job for you.”

Carlos sighed. So it had come to this. After all this time, he was back on the job. 

The figure continued. “Your mission is to travel to a small desert community, where you will remove an alligator that is acting contrary to our interests. Don’t worry about why. Just go get the alligator. Terminate it with extreme prejudice. The alligator. I must stress that this is an alligator. I… _We_ don’t have a picture of this alligator, but you’ll be able to find it. It’s the desert. There’s only the one alligator. I mean, think about it. Prepare your gear and be ready for transport in fifteen minutes. This disc will self-destruct in 3… 2… 1…”

Smoke began to pour out of his DVD player. Carlos jumped to his feet and hurriedly hit “eject,” but it was no use. The machine was on fire. He quickly grabbed a fire extinguisher and put out the blaze. How many VCRs and DVD players had he lost over the years? Maybe it hadn’t been such a great idea to finance his grad-school education by becoming a paid assassin. Ah, well, no sense in crying over spilled blood.

He sighed heavily and hung his “Happy Birthday” lab coat on a nearby hook, then slipped on his black leather assassinating jacket. He grabbed his aluminum gun case and sat down in a chair. A few minutes later, hooded figures burst through his door.

“Well, Happy Fucking Birthday to me,” Carlos sighed as a chloroformed rag was thrust into his face, then the world went dark.


	2. Chapter 2

Carlos woke up with a pounding head and a dry mouth beside a deserted highway in an arid desert landscape. He groaned as he stood. Why did Transport always have to be so dramatic? Couldn’t they, just once, hand him a plane ticket? But no, it was always the hooded goons with the chloroform. He’d bring it up in the next Employee Engagement Survey, for sure. 

He looked around, surveying the area. A nearby sign read “Night Vale, 20 miles,” with an arrow pointing toward the west. Was that where he was supposed to go? It had been _so kind_ of his handlers to not actually tell him the name of the town he was supposed to visit. Ah, well, if he messed up, it wasn’t his fault. He dusted off his clothes as best he could, then picked up his gun case and began the long, slow trudge towards the town. 

He’d gone about five miles when he heard the purr of a motor behind him. A Jeep passed him, slowed, then pulled over to the side of the road just ahead. At that moment, Carlos wished that he’d thought to actually arm himself before the transport team had taken him. He squared his shoulders and prepared for a fight as he walked to the driver’s side window.

The driver was a red-headed, brilliantly-sunburned fellow dressed all in khaki. The fellow regarded him with a friendly smile.

“Hello, there, Friend! Need a lift somewhere?”

Carlos narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“You just looked like you could use some help! Whew, hot out today, huh?” 

Carlos considered. Was this guy for real, or was this just some sort of a plot to get rid of him? He looked up at the punishing sun and down at his rather overwarm leather jacket. Well, even if the guy was going to try to kill him, it was better than being roasted alive. 

“Sure, what the hell.” 

The redhead leaned over and unlocked the passenger side door, and Carlos sat inside, grateful for the respite from the glare.

“Earl Harlan,” the redhead said, putting out his hand for a shake.

“Carlos,” Carlos answered, pumping the other man’s hand. 

“Carlos what?”

“Just Carlos.”

“Oh.” Harlan blinked. “Well, uh, cool! Buckle up, Carlos! Safety first!”

Carlos warily buckled his seatbelt, and Harlan eased the Jeep back onto the road, checking both ways even though there were no other cars for miles. “So, where you headed, Carlos?”

“Uh, Night Vale?”

“That’s where I’m headed! Great minds, huh?” Harlan chuckled to himself. “That’s a fancy suitcase! You new in town?”

“Yep, just got here today.”

“Thought I hadn’t seen you before. Of course, I’m kinda new in town, myself. Just been here a few… weeks? Months? Ah, who knows? Anyhoo… Whatcha do for a living, there, Carlos?”

Carlos stared stonily at the man. Why all the questions? And why hadn’t Carlos thought to create a cover story? Well, best to go with what you know. “I’m a scientist. I’m here to do science.”

“A scientist? You don’t say! You don’t look like a scientist. I thought scientists wore lab coats.”

“Scientists don’t wear lab coats **all the time**. That’s a stereotype.”

“Sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to offend. I’m a park ranger, myself.”

“So there’s a park around here?” An alligator might conceivably be in a park.

“Anything is a park if you believe in yourself. A park is just a state of mind. I’m freelance.”

Carlos had begun to suspect that the man was not another agent, but rather was a run-of-the-mill lunatic. He relaxed. “Oh, a freelance park ranger. That’s nice.”

“It is!” Harlan brightened. "All that hiking and wildlife.”

“Oh, yes, wildlife. I’m very interested in wildlife. Particularly reptiles.”

Harlan’s eyes narrowed. “Reptiles, eh? What kind of reptiles?”

“Oh, you know, big ones. Like alligator-sized.”

Harlan’s face got redder than before, a feat that Carlos would not have thought possible, then he broke into a very fake laugh. “Ha! Ha ha! That’s a good one, Carlos! An alligator? Either you’re joking, or you’re a bad scientist. This is the desert, no alligators here, nope!”

Carlos raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t say alligators particularly. I said alligator-sized.”

“Well, that’s kind of a strange distinction. I mean, what’s alligator-sized except for an alligator? Or a crocodile?”

“Giant monitor lizards? _Varanus komodoensis_? You know, Komodo Dragons?”

“I’m aware. I’m also aware that those are also not found in the desert southwest.”

“Still, the point stands. I’m interested in large reptiles, one example of which are alligators.”

“All you’re going to find here are gila monsters.” The Jeep slowed to a stop at a stoplight, and Carlos looked out the window, surprised. Somehow, they had arrived in town, and Carlos had completely failed to notice. Harlan turned toward him and looked at him significantly, a dash of menace in his voice. “ **Gila monsters** are **all you will find**.”

Carlos nodded slowly. “Okay, gila monsters.”

Harlan nodded back, seemingly satisfied, his mildly-menacing air instantly gone. “Great! So where you setting up camp? By which I mean, where are you staying? I wouldn’t expect you to actually camp, you don’t seem the rugged type.”

“Oh, I can camp, you bet I can camp. I’m plenty rugged. But no, I’m looking for a hotel.”

“There’s only one in town. It’s the Night Vale Inn and Opera House. I’m staying there myself, when I’m not camping, of course. I’ll drop you off there.”

Carlos wasn’t looking forward to staying in the same building as this Earl Harlan, but on the other hand, he _did_ seem to know something about the alligator, so he supposed he should cultivate his friendship as a source. That was the thing that no one understood about the assassin business — the social part. It was Carlos’ least-favorite part. 

The Jeep pulled up outside an ornate building that looked like an opera house, a parking garage, and a dingy motel had somehow had a baby. 

“Well, here you go! End of the line!”

“Thanks, buddy,” Carlos said, trying to look warm and, well, buddy-ish. He got out of the vehicle and leaned inside. “Hey, you have time to join me for a drink?”

“Not today, _Amigo_! I have a date!” 

Carlos barely had time to slam the door shut before Harlan drove off, leaving him in a cloud of dust.


End file.
